


Memories Unforgotten

by guardiandevil



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Heavy Imagery at the End, Kinda, Natasha Romanov Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Plant Mum Natasha, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), blackbird - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardiandevil/pseuds/guardiandevil
Summary: A glimpse into Natasha and Peter's lives after Endgame.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Memories Unforgotten

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday oneshot for @PA4RKER on twitter x

Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains that were hung loosely from the pole above the window, casting a yellow wash across the room. The soft hiss of a boiled kettle broke the quiet peace of chirping birds and a world still asleep. Natasha was still tired when she took the kettle from the stove, navigating the cramped kitchen to find her favourite mug; a large, peach one with brown and yellow butterflies, chipped in the corner from overuse. A jasmine teabag turned the boiled water a pale green as the richly scented steam drifted further into the apartment. As Natasha stirred the tea, the soft ‘clink’ of the metal spoon sounded against the ceramic, before eventually cluttering into the sink. The noises sounded restfully isolated in the midst of the early hours.

The kettle was returned to the stove in an attempt to preserve the warm contents for Peter, though Natasha knew silently that the boy wouldn’t wake for hours to come. Fluffy socks cushioned her feet, softening the sound of footsteps over the birch hardwood flooring, creaky in places with age. Despite the dim lighting, Natasha avoided the noisy localities in a perfected dance she performed whenever she had a guest.

Natasha sank down onto the couch with a relieved sigh, allowing the plushness of the cushions to drag her back. Soft snores flooded from the bedroom into the lounge where she had slept and now sat, familiar and periodic; just loud enough to be heard and yet not too raucous to drown out the songs of the birds. Listening for only a passing moment more, Natasha breathed in the fragrant steam again, allowing it to clear her senses and flood her lungs.

Time slipped from Natasha’s grasp as she stayed sat with her feet tucked beneath her and her fingers curled around the warm mug which slowly cooled. The paleness of the sun had shifted into something warmer, illuminating orange silhouettes across the opposing walls. Clouds darkened the colour as they drifted past, though Natasha saw beauty in it still.

The unusual silence was noticed too late, as Natasha was greeted by the soft padding of Peter leaving the bedroom, and she was left to wonder just how long she had been sat there with her wandering thoughts. Glancing over her shoulder, Natasha was met by the sight of the boy with slightly tousled hair and sleep-clouded eyes. A Stark Industries t-shirt hung from Peter’s thin frame, swallowing him whole in a way that was sweetly childlike, only enhanced by the fact that Natasha knew it was Tony’s shirt and not Peter’s own. Though she concealed it as best she could, a fond smile spread across Natasha’s lips.

“Good morning, Слатки паук.” The softness of Natasha’s voice was welcomed by Peter, who hummed quietly in response— not quite awake, then. She didn’t mind the silence. It was Peter’s turn to take in the sight of Natasha, curled into the corner of the couch with her hair thrown into a haphazard bun, strands falling to frame her face, which appeared more honey-coloured than red beneath the glow of the sun. Fingers twitched at his sides, itching to wrap around his camera and capture the moment and leave it frozen in time forever. He knew Natasha’s aversion to having her photograph taken, though, so he refrained and continued his journey into the kitchen. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Once the kettle had been boiled a second time, Peter poured himself a cup of coffee— one sugar, a splash of milk. He watched the dark liquid turn creamier as he stirred the milk in, taking the few moments to himself as he battled the residual sleep. On his return from the kitchen, Peter was drawn to the couch, settling himself down and curling into Natasha’s side wordlessly. The unspoken comfort they felt with each other lingered between the pair, heavy and ever present.

With the boy so close, it was hard for Natasha to ignore the memories that clawed at the forefront of her mind. There were children within the Red Room who had been torn from their families, just like herself, and thrown into a word of evil and unforgivingness. Young, curly haired kids with bright eyes much alike Peter Parker were forced into an organisation that drained that very light from within them. Smiles became a foreign concept that didn’t quite seem plausible, a trick from the handlers that allowed them to inflict punishments at the first upward curl at the corner of a child’s lips. Natasha had fought those children, too, her hands stained with an equal amount of blood as the agents. It made her wonder how she ever saw a soldier in place of a child.

A sharp breeze caught Natasha’s attention, the curtains lifting as they were pushed further into the room by the wind. The creamy translucent fabric flickered and folded, projecting shadows that contorted the heated vibrancy of the orange glow. The plants that lined the windowsill added to the shadows now, the green leaves and blue petals leaning towards the sun and absorbing the light before it could reach the floor. Each one was housed by a glass bottle or clay pot- recycled or bought from secondhand stores with concern for the environment, and teetering along the edge of the dark wood ledge. They’d fall off, sometimes, scattering soil across the floor beneath the window. Maybe Natasha should find a better place for them, but seeing her plants flourish beneath the sun was irresistible. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Peter shifted at Natasha’s side and her attention diverted again. His coffee was gone now, she noticed as he set the empty mug on the table in front of them. When the boy moved, it was lethargic, still slowed by the sleep that threatened to pull him back in. The grey, thickly woven blanket that was slung over the back of the couch was pulled down, Natasha laying it over the tired boy at her side.

“Bad dream?” she asked presumptuously, relying upon her prior experience with the boy. Her fingers drummed against the side of the peach mug, red painted nails chipped in colour and yet effortlessly elegant at once. Beside her, Peter stiffened for a mere fraction of a second before his muscles loosened once more as he slumped against Natasha’s side. He leant his head a little above her hip and sighed.

“Yeah. ‘Bout Tony,” he admitted finally, voice groggy with a mixture of sleep and discernible pain. The revelation was far from a surprise to Natasha, who had become accustomed to the boy waking up in a sweat, Tony’s name leaving his lips in a resigned plea. It was clear that Peter hadn’t had his usual dream; the usual fear appeared to be replaced with consuming sadness and silent acceptance.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Natasha wondered hesitantly, her hand rubbing repetitive circles on the back of Peter’s shoulder, a ministration she hoped was calming. It pained Natasha to see Peter so despondent. She missed the boy’s usually gleeful, bubbly nature; his Avengers impressions in the bathroom that he didn’t know she could hear or their awkward dancing in the kitchen at ungodly hours. Better days would come, Natasha supposed, she would just have to wait for them to come naturally.

They had fallen into a routine after Tony’s death; Peter would come to Natasha when he needed patching up in the aftermath of a bad night on patrol, and she would be there in the morning if Peter needed her. Often, he did, but on most occasions the boy would force on a beaming grin and pretend he was fine, as Natasha was blind to the watery smiles and trembling bottom lips. She wasn’t, but out of graciousness, she pretended to be. Those silent mornings made these ones a little more welcome, no matter how melancholy they might be.

“I don’t think that I can live up to him,” Peter told her in a voice that was equal parts soft and shaky. Natasha followed Peter’s gaze to where it was glued to the photo frame that sat atop the thrifted dresser. Her and Tony’s smiling faces stared back at her accusingly. Perhaps she should put the photo somewhere less noticeable. “I think that I‘m letting him down... I don’t want to fail him, Nat.”

The weight of Peter’s words sat heavily atop Natasha’s chest and she felt herself deflate slightly. She forced her gaze away from the photograph. Regardless of how hard she tried, Natasha couldn’t save Peter from the evil and cruelties that existed in the world. Innocence was often dashed with blood and death; she was the poster child for corruption in that sense, having grown up watching others kill only to then do the same herself. If anyone were to be saved from that life, that reality, Natasha had hoped it would have been Peter.

“Let him down? Peter... You could never fail Tony. I think that he saw a lot of himself in you, and for better or for worse, pushed you to be better than that— better than him. Because he didn’t think that he was good enough either, you know that, Pete? When we lost you after the snap, he took it really hard, too, we both did. Today had it in his head that he’d failed you— and May. What you’re feeling now, the way you’re dealing with this? It’s normal, Peter. Nobody expects it to be easy for you, kid... We just want you to know that Tony could never be disappointed in you for who you are. You might not believe in yourself, but if anyone did, it’s Tony.”

When Peter stayed quiet, Natasha tilted her head to the side in hopes to get a better look at the boy. His eyes were closed, his head lulling against her hip. If it weren’t for the tears that trailed his cheeks, Natasha might have thought he looked at peace. Perhaps if his eyes were opened too, she would have seen the storm that carried on inside of him. The fact that she couldn’t graced her with the knowledge that, if it were there, Peter didn’t want her to see it.

“Why don’t you get some more sleep, Peter?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think I might.” Natasha had expected the boy to plod quietly back to her bedroom, but when he turned into her side and wrapped a loose arm around her, she didn’t hesitate to wrap hers around him in return. Silence fell between them again and Her gaze shifted back to the window, where a bird had landed on the ledge outside, seeming to peer through at Natasha and Peter. A blackbird with red wings that seemed to fade to a colour somewhere between orange and yellow; slightly golden. It chirped softly once, a happy sound that eased some of the tension in Natasha’s chest.

Sighing, Natasha’s eyes found the photograph that had caught Peter’s attention before. In the image, now slightly dusty along the silver frame, Natasha stood beside Tony at a party, the two of them smiling as the latest version of the Iron Man gauntlets curled around her hands. Natasha sipped her tea once more, now cold and slightly grainy against her tongue, before she noticed the similar golden and red tones in the photograph. When she turned back to the window, the blackbird was gone, but Natasha’s smile only grew.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

She had all the faith that she needed; all that was left to do was to pass some of it to Peter, too.


End file.
